


The BatIM One-Shot Dump

by Book_buried_Batter



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: ;-), ?? - Freeform, Body Horror, M/M, NSFW in chapter 5, gay in chapter 4, graphic transformation, so far anyway, things get a little graphic in ch2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-03-07 13:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13435806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book_buried_Batter/pseuds/Book_buried_Batter
Summary: So basically I get a lot of prompts and things and I decided hey, why not post them? So here are all my little oneshots that don't really go with anything else.





	1. Don't Push Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt "don't push yourself, you're obviously in pain" with Sammy Lawrence speaking to Henry

Sammy couldn't help but stare at the head animator, a little shocked but mostly worried. The man had come downstairs to talk about the showtunes with him, but…  
Bandages wrapped tightly around Henry's wrist, which had obviously swollen up. He didn't realize it until Henry was speaking to him, but he was staring. “I like the rhymes in this line better than that one, but it can be your choice, they both work. But were you picturing a major number with the backup dancers and visuals or just a small one with a few-”  
“Are you seriously still working like that?” Sammy interrupted.  
“I'm sorry…?” Henry looked up from the sheet music he'd been handed.  
“Your wrist.” He pointed. “Does it hurt?”  
Henry hesitated too long to be believable. “It's fine, it's just a little sore.”  
“Come on, Chase… You're not fooling anyone.” Without saying anything else, he reached out and grabbed the animator’s wrist, giving it a firm squeeze.  
Henry yelped and flinched back, pulling away from Sammy's grip. “What the heck, Sammy, what was that for?!”  
“So that hurt, then?” He crossed his arms, blue eyes narrowing.  
“Yes, it hurt!” Henry handed the sheet music back and began to gently massage the joint. “I told you it's a little sore.”  
“...I’m willing to bet money on it being a sprain, if not worse.” Sammy pressed. “You shouldn't be drawing like that. It'll just get worse.”  
“Well, you can keep your money, because it’s not sprained.” Henry insisted. “I’m fine. Just… tell me what you were thinking for that number, I need to get back to work.”  
Sammy thought for a moment, mostly about the animator’s condition, before he spoke. “Just a small number, maybe with the main crew, but something simple.”  
“Sounds good to me.” Nodding, Henry turned to take the stairs back up.  
“And Henry?” The music director called after him.  
“Yeah?” Henry looked back over his shoulder.  
“Don’t force yourself, you’re obviously in pain. We need you on this team, be careful.”  
Henry let out a small sigh. “Whatever you say, Mister Lawrence.”  
Once he was sure Henry was out of earshot, Sammy muttered to himself, “Now I think I’ll go see what Mister Joey Drew has to say about that sprain…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm 110% accepting prompts and pairings. If you're stuck in rarepair hell, I may be able to help you for the low, low price of a prompt!


	2. Nothing Scarier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off the dialogue prompt "There is nothing scarier than when I heard you scream" and the prompt included it being Wally Franks that spoke it to Sammy! (There was a second part where it was Wally speaking to Henry instead, but it got really angsty and iffy really fast)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for a somewhat graphic description of Sammy turning into Ink Sammy

Wally Franks, resident janitor of Joey Drew Studios, could safely say he had not been paid enough to clean up what had just happened in front of him. The music director, known as Sammy Lawrence, lay in a heap of ink on the floor. It was everywhere, the ink, and there was no telling where it had come from.  
All he knew was he had just watched Sammy’s body being ripped open and taken apart bone by bone, every organ disconnected. Ink had pulled itself into his body instead, his pale skin staining black, a new type of inky flesh thickly covering the missing parts of his torso. Blond hair was replaced with a thick sheet of ink, blue eyes ripped out of his skull. The whole time, he had screamed. Even with ink replacing and filling his lungs, distorting the noise temporarily, he was screaming, praying to some god, begging for forgiveness... And Wally couldn’t look away. He knew he walked in at the wrong time, but he just couldn’t look away. When Sammy finally collapsed to the ground in the center of a pentagram, the janitor felt like his legs were frozen, though he wanted to go over and find out what the hell he had just witnessed.  
After a few minutes, Sammy rises to his feet, if a little shaky. He turns to a wide-eyed Wally and his back straightens, his head tilts to the side. Wally feels himself beginning to tremble where he stands as he stares at the featureless face of his- he assumes former- co-worker. His mouth hangs open for a moment before he can speak. “I… I’ve neva, eva heard anythin’ scarier… than the way you screamed…”  
Sammy took a shambling step closer.  
“I… bet ya gonna tell me to clean all this up now, huh, Sammy…?” Wally takes a nervous step back.  
“Who… is ‘Sammy’?” The inky creature speaks, his voice rough. “This ‘Sammy’ sounds as though they would be a worthy sheep…”  
“Sheep…?” Wally repeats.  
“Yes… yes, a sheep for our Lord… But I suppose… I can make do…” He took a few steps closer.  
“Whada ya mean? Sammy, ya freakin’ me out…” Wally backed up more, his shoulder brushing the door frame out of the room.  
“You would make… just as good of a sacrifice, however.” He explained.  
“Oh shit…” Wally breathed. He glanced to his left, spotting the mop he’d left next to the door.  
What used to be Sammy suddenly lunged at the janitor, aiming to grab him. The only thing Wally could do in return was make a leap for his mop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm 110% accepting prompts and pairings. If you're stuck in rarepair hell, I may be able to help you for the low, low price of a prompt!


	3. Norman's Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short story of what happened to Norman. The version of Joey here is different from my normal one just to make it work.

My head hurts. That's all I could think. Head hurts. Arms feel heavy. I feel tired. Where am I? My eyes open to near pitch blackness. There's candles, though. I can see it on the ceiling. Soft circles of light. Very soft. I'm still at work. I try to sit up. A weight presses on my chest. Holds me down. I look down, put my hands against it, just for a second. They fall back to my sides. It's a projector. I can lift that, if I wasn't so numb. “Oh, no, Mister Polk, I don't think you're going anywhere.” Says the voice of Mister Drew. I gotta guess I asks him something, ‘cause he's speaking to me like I did. “Don't you worry, what I'm about to do will have you feeling better than ever!” He exclaims. He's above me. He's got ink in his hand. And a knife in the other. A big one. It presses into my throat. My heart starts pounding, I still can't move. “Mister Polk, my friend, one of my best workers,” That smilea his is sickening. “You're the first step in something incredible, you know. But… I need you to work with me here. Now open up, come on…” Open up? Open my mouth? Oh Jesus Christ almighty, is this crazy bastard about to pour ink down my throat?! I clench my teeth. “Go to Hell.” I says through them. I knew he had a couplea screws loose. This was too far. “Maybe you didn't understand me.” He says back. “Open. Up.” Ink hits my lips, seeps through cracks. It's got a strong smell, a worse taste. I can't help gagging. Mistake. It's made known to me. Fast. Ink is filling my mouth. Running down my throat. I'm floating. I don't think I'm imagining it. I'm not on the ground anymore. The ache in my head turns into a stabbing pain. The pain spreads fast, down my neck, down my arms to my legs, I'm screaming. I'm screaming loud. My throat hurts. I can barely hear Drew yelling, yelling no. The pain is red hot, burning, searing, the lights are suddenly bright. I feels my voice change. The scream is static, an awful feeling rips through my chest. I land on my stomach, suddenly quiet. I push up. My body throbs. I looks up, my head feeling heavier than ever. The last thing I sees before it fades to black is Joey Drew's horrified face.


	4. Attitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy Lawrence is not one to show his emotions in a typical way- if at all. This can lead to some serious misunderstandings and hurt feelings, but maybe someone can teach him otherwise...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I rushed this a lot........... the editing is kinda meh and I'm not happy with how I wrote the end, but this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks now, just take it *shrug*

“Honestly, your attitude in this situation is... despicable.” Sammy Lawrence, a short man with curly blond hair, muses to the wiry-framed janitor standing in front of him.  
Wally Franks, a taller man with messy brown hair and a freckled face, rolls his dark green eyes so hard that he feels he might strain them. “Maybe it's ‘cause I'm sicka your shit, Lawrence.” He snaps back, gripping the handle of his broom.  
The musician looks taken aback. “Excuse me...?”   
“You always do this shit! I'm sorry I keep losin’ my fuckin’ keys, okay?! It's not my fault the ring won’ stay on my belt! I have a million things ta worry about around here, and this? This ain't one of ‘em! If ya need my keys so bad, keep track of ‘em yourself! I-” his voice began to break, surprising Sammy. “I neva even actually need them, it's just for you!” In a sudden burst, he sends the broom to the floor as hard as he can.  
Sammy puts his hands up in front of him. “Wally-”  
“No, shut the fuck up and lemme talk for once!” Now he moves towards the composer, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You’re unbearable! You’re so damn particular about every little thing, I gotta spend hours cleaning your office alone! And ya keep tryin’ ta talk ta me while I do it, do y’know how frustratin’ that is?! I need ta focus to do anything and then ya just- just-!” The janitor lets out an annoyed noise, throwing his hands up in the air. “I can’t take it anymore! I’m outta hea!” He storms off, his laced work boots thumping down the hall as he does.   
Stunned, Sammy slinks back into his office, not quite sure what to do with himself. Having the normally easy-going Wally shout at him like that is… He’d obviously taken it too far. Sammy never meant to truly upset Wally like that, he just… was messing with him. He runs a hand through his messy blond hair. The more he thinks about it, the worse he feels. He hadn’t realized staying in the office so long bothered Wally, he just wanted a little company. Why hadn’t he said something before? With a sigh, Sammy walks back out into the hall, deciding to go on a search for the janitor.   
~~~~~  
The lower levels of the studio have never felt safe to Sammy. They still smell of new wood and dirt, and there are no windows anywhere. No way to tell the time of day besides obnoxiously loud clocks in the shape of Bendy himself.   
Level 9 is where he finds Wally. Next to the lift is a tiny office, one with a tiny desk and not much more room. It was meant to be a closet, but Wally had wanted his own. The door is opes a few inches, but Wally has his back mostly to the door. He doesn’t notice Sammy approaching, or silently opening his door all the way.  
Wally sits in a rickety chair, hunched over his desk. His hands are in his hair, tiny puddles forming between where his elbows rest. It takes a few seconds for Sammy to realize that it’s because the man is crying. He lightly knocks on the door twice. “Wally…?”  
The janitor whips around. “What now?” He scrubs his face harshly with the sleeve of his shirt.  
“...You’re crying?” Sammy crosses his arms.  
“You just can’t gimme a fuckin’ break, can ya, Lawrence?” His voice is rising already. “I come down hea to get away from you and you think that’s an invite ta come in hea and-”  
Sammy steps forward and firmly grabs the taller man by his shoulders. “I came here to say I’m sorry.”  
“...What?” Wally gives him a confused look.  
“I said… I’m here to apologize. I didn’t… I didn’t realize how much I upset you. I didn’t know I… drove you to actual tears. I never meant to do that to you, Wally. I just wanted to get closer to you.”  
“...Then why do ya treat me so badly? I don’t understand, I’m tryin’ my best to do my job well and all I get from you is… that I’d despicable. Your words cut deep.” His eyes shift to the floor, his feet shuffling.  
“I know that now… I didn’t before. I was giving you a hard time and I thought you knew I was just messing around. I never meant to hurt you like this and I’m going to try not to again.” Without thinking, he tilts Wally’s chin with one hand to look at him. “You can speak up. I don’t want you to be afraid of me, of all people.”  
“You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t understand how many things I have to keep track of around hea. I’ve got a million things ta take care of and it’s all on me if it goes wrong.” Wally blinks back more tears, not wanting to let Sammy see them anymore.  
Shaking his head, Sammy slips his arms around Wally’s thin torso, hugging him tightly. His embrace is- he hopes- happily returned. “I can mostly understand, though. Running the music department isn’t that easy.” He pulls back from the janitor then, pausing for a moment and giving him an almost quizzical look.  
“What is it?” Wally tilts his head slightly.   
Sammy lets out a small noise, thinking for a second, before standing up on his toes and pressing his lips against the corner of the taller man’s mouth. When he’s standing flat again, Wally’s face is coated red, his eyes wide with surprise. “Just don’t tell Joey?” He asks lightly. All Wally can do is nod dumbly as Sammy makes his way out the door. He calls back over his shoulder as he steps into the lift, “On your break, meet me in my office, we have more talking to do!” And with that’ he’s on his way back to his own department, feeling as though several weights have been lifted off of his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just in: Formatting still a nightmare, end of chapter notes possibly still broken, possibly still taking prompts, author is still a giant multishipper.


	5. Dream Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about some random smut with Grant Cohen? ;-) I tried my best I promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty NSFW

Shawn Flynn; tall, pale, sturdy. Dark brown hair swept towards one side of his head, short at the back and sides. Bright blue eyes that gaze into the soul, bring every little detail into sharp focus. The muscular arms of a machine worker, calloused hands to match. And yet, the gentle precision of a doll maker. Broad shoulders and a defined chest, normally hidden by leather overalls, exposed now. A deep v-line sweeps past chiseled abs, towards a solid length and toned thighs. His full masculinity represented by the light scruff along his jaw and the layer of dark hair on his arms, legs, and chest.  
His hands press firmly into the bare hips of Grant Cohen, a tiny man who thinks of himself as “past his prime". Hardly standing at more than four-foot-nine, Grant is easily overpowered by the man standing between his quivering legs, pinning him to his bed. Shawn drinks in his every detail, from the spread of light brown hair against gray sheets to the freckles dotting his thin, hairless chest. The dollmaker runs his hands up, hips to sides to chest, pushing Grant's arms above his head and pressing against his skin. He leans in close, the smaller man able to feel the light brush of his almost-beard against his jaw, under his ear. Shawn whispers something in Irish, his voice low, husky, incredibly close to his ear. It sends a jolt straight down Grant's spine to the base of his less-than-impressive shaft, making him hold back a far too desperate moan. Shawn's deep chuckle that follows isn't helpful, either.

Shawn's thumbs only begin to rub lovingly across Grant's perked nipples when a different kind of jolt is sent through him, one of fear. He abruptly sits upright at his desk in a cramped office, eyes flying open. He's suddenly aware of a streak of drool wetting the left side of his face, which was resting against his folded arms. He quickly swipes it away, sending the same hand through his wild hair. A knock sounds through the space, presumably for a second try at gaining his attention. He manages a “come in?” and the door flies open, revealing an ink-smeared Thomas Connor. The mechanic frowns. “I thought I'd find you here. It's late, Cohen, go home!” is all the burly man shouts before closing the door hard, leaving Grant alone. The small man sighs, grateful that his desk hid the embarrassing mass below it- and not for the first time.  
As much as he would like for Shawn to have his way with him, he’s very much on his own for any kind of relief. It had always been nothing more than a fantasy of a man too perfect for someone like him. However, he could always dream…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very much still taking prompts! I'll try my best with them if I really like them!


End file.
